


The Misadventures of Minty-Breath Connor

by bibliomaniac



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Also Licking Things That Are Conducive To Romance, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Licking Things, Crack, Licking Things That Are Not Conducive To Romance, M/M, Pavlovian Responses to Mint, You get the idea, cws in beginning notes, oh that's already a tag huh, rated m for quite a bit of innuendo and some non-graphic mentions of sexual acts, yep that's the boy all right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: Hank would like the record to show it's not entirely his fault that he likes the smell and taste of mint a bit too much now. Because it's mostly Connor's fault, for refusing to kiss him for two days and then coming back with a mouth that tastes like mint.Really, you can't blame him for starting to form an association or two.((aka, hank complains about connor licking things, connor doesn't kiss him for 48 hours in a show of impressive willpower and petty bullshit, connor changes the fluid in his mouth to taste like mint and enjoys that this makes hank really really like mint, and the dpd is resigned to watching their weird soap opera play out))





	The Misadventures of Minty-Breath Connor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Knightblazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/gifts), [Iocane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/gifts).



> cws for this work include: discussion of unsanitary substances that connor tests, including blood, drugs, and other bodily fluids; mention and further discussion, though not graphically, of a corpse in a state of extreme decomposition; they argue, though the argument is resolved; discussion of bacteria and their presence on the body (please be careful in particular if you have a contamination obsession); hank feels some guilt; mention of cruel punishment and the geneva convention in a joking fashion; connor somewhat deliberately manipulates hank into associating mint with sex without hank being consciously aware; hank gets an erection in public, though this is not acted on in a public area; there is a mention of the dpd being aware that connor and hank have intercourse in the office bathroom
> 
> ok this basically all came from a strange and wonderful conversation with [taso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer) and [io](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane) in the discord for the 2018 hankcon big bang. (which, btw, artist signups are still going and if you think you can get 10k+ done by nov 25th, you can still join as a writer also-- [see this post](http://muchymozzarella.tumblr.com/post/179299788499/hankcon-big-bang-reminder-post#.W835RaeZN-U) for more information!) some of the dialogue/concepts and the title came from them in that conversation and they're both wonderful besides, so go check out their work!

It would be a lie to say Hank didn’t know how he got here. He knows exactly how he got here, and it was an embarrassingly short road at that. Not even steep. He just went on a lazy midday stroll down the street from being a relatively normal old dude to being an old dude who is trying real hard to tamp down an erection because some lady in an assisted care facility is offering him a peppermint candy. 

It’s all Connor’s fault, in fairness. 

(Okay, _all_ is a lie too. Mostly. It’s mostly Connor’s fault.)

See, the thing is, Connor puts some weird-ass shit in his mouth. _Including_ ass, not that Hank really needs to get into that too far, especially given the whole erection situation and all, but also stuff that’s just plain fucking gross. Blood, pretty frequently. Drugs they find onsite. All kinds of other body business. And, see, that’s fucking nasty when you’re kissing a guy, no matter how much he insists that he has a fluid that rinses and sterilizes his mouth after he analyzes each sample, _it would be counterproductive if the samples cross-contaminated, Hank, my mouth should be 99 percent free of any substance five minutes after a sample is taken,_ but it’s still nasty. For one because it was still _in_ there in the first place, and for two because the sterilization fluid tastes fucking awful, like rubbing alcohol or hand sanitizer or something.

He draws the line one day after Connor dips his cute little fingers into an unfortunately liquefied corpse and takes a generous lick, then tries to kiss him ten minutes later in the car.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor, no! I don’t want some—fucking— _dude juice_ in my system!”

“It’s been more than five minutes,” Connor says, looking a little hurt, “Which means the sample has been fully sterilized. Well. 99 percent. Approximately.”

“Sure, _fine,_ even if that weren’t still nasty, that means you still got that fluid in your mouth, right? And it tastes awful. I’m just—” Hank can tell Connor’s expression is even more hurt, and he feels bad for saying anything already. The heat has been getting to all of them, except for Connor, and Hank has been in a grumpy mood all day. But. He’s this far in. “I just don’t want to kiss you right this exact moment, okay?” 

Connor’s face goes robot-blank, and the pleasant smile he gives Hank is completely void of emotion. “All right.”

Aw, fuck, now he feels really bad. “Connor—”

“If you’d like 100 percent sterilization and also the complete removal of the taste of my sterilization fluid,” Connor says, faux-chirpy and still oppressively pleasant, “That will take approximately 48 hours in total.”

Hank blinks. “Huh?” 

“48 hours,” Connor says, voice saccharine sweet and simultaneously very clearly pissed off. “48 hours until you can kiss me next. I’ll start the timer now.”

 _Fuck,_ God, he’s _really_ fucking mad. “Con—babe, I didn’t—” He leans over to drop a kiss on Connor’s cheek, at least, because it’s always cold for one and he could use that with how hot it is, but mostly because he feels like the worst person on the planet right now. Connor moves smoothly out of his reach. 

“47 hours, 59 minutes, 43 seconds,” he says. “You should start driving home, Lieutenant. Traffic will get worse the longer we stay in this location.” 

God, he’s fucked up, hasn’t he. He gives one last pleading glance at Connor, who resolutely looks ahead, then sighs, pounding a hand on the steering wheel, and gets going. 

After they get home, Connor starts cooking dinner without a single word to him, LED a firm yellow. Hank watches him despairingly, wondering whether it’s worth it to risk Connor getting even more unhappy by getting really drunk, then concludes it’s probably not. He heaves himself up to wrap his arms around Connor from behind, whose LED goes blue for a split second, but doesn’t relax back into the grip like he usually does.

“Connor, I’m sorry,” he tries. “I was a dick about that, back there.”

Connor continues to stir the stew he’s making. “Yes.” 

“But, I mean, that body was pretty gross.” 

The spoon stops.

“And I just—well—I mean, is it too much to ask that you don’t have corpse liquid in your mouth when we make out?” 

The spoon is gently set down, and Connor swivels in his arms, putting his hands on Hank’s shoulders. Hank probably should have noticed that his LED was red, but he doesn’t, he just tries for a smile.

“Of course it’s not too much to ask,” Connor says, voice sweet again in a way that really should have given Hank a second clue. Instead, he relaxes.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely! All you have to do is wait for 48 hours for complete sterilization.” With that, and a placid smile, Connor ducks out of Hank’s arms to get some cream out of the fridge.

Hank groans, throwing his head back. “ _Connor.”_

“It’s my _job,_ Hank.”

“Being a passive aggressive pain in the ass?”

He throws him a sharp glare. “I do that for free. I mean realtime sample analysis to aid in the investigation of crime scenes.” 

“Christ, Connor! I know that, but it’s still—” 

“When you go to the bathroom and then wash your hands, would you hesitate to hold my hand thereafter? To shake hands with Fowler? To pick up a hamburger and eat it?”

“I mean, no, but—”

“Washing your hands reduces the count of bacteria on your hand between 77 percent and as low as 24 percent.” 

“God, I didn’t need to  _know_ that, Connor—” 

“You did not know, and yet you have no hesitation in other areas of your life. Is the issue then that you do know the precise percentage of bacteria sanitized from my mouth and this disconcerts you?”

“There’s still one percent left,” Hank mumbles, cowed.

Connor raises his eyebrows and turns off the heat on the stove. “And that one percent will be gone at the end of the 48 hour period. How nice for you.” He drops the spoon into the sink with a clatter and replaces it with a different serving spoon. Because the wood can hold onto the liquid from the raw meat, he’d explained once, so to be certain he switches it out so there won’t be any contamination. 

Hank is fully aware he’s an ass as a general rule, but he thinks in this particular situation he might be especially so.

“Wait for it to cool down before you eat,” Connor says, then walks out from the kitchen towards the direction of the garage door. He goes there sometimes when he wants to be alone, which isn’t too often, mostly when Hank fucks up like this. He says he doesn’t go out walking because he doesn’t want Hank to worry about him.

Hank is definitely an ass.

He eats the stew in silence, feeling very shitty about himself and a lot like getting drunk but not a lot like he deserves to escape from any of this. After maybe a half hour of dragging his feet and doing the dishes, he softly hits his head against the table before knocking on the garage door, which feels ridiculous, but if Connor still wants his space he’s not going to intrude on that.

“Connor,” he calls out, “Can I make a real apology?”

There’s a brief silence, then, “Yes.” 

Hank opens the door to see Connor crouched up on top of the inactive dryer, face inscrutable. He edges forward, leaning against it a bit. “So I fucked up that last apology.”

“Indeed.”

“Look, sometimes it’s just hard to get over myself.” Connor huffs lightly. “I have weird hangups, and I get weird about—stuff I’m used to that’s different with you. But that’s not on you, that’s on me. And you could still have an entire Big Gulp’s worth of body in there and I’d still ultimately want to kiss you, because I love you.” He reaches out tentatively for Connor’s hands. “I’m sorry I made you feel shitty about that.” 

Connor’s LED circles blue, and he relaxes a bit. “You know I’d never do anything that I thought would harm you.” 

“Yeah, babe, I know.”

“ _Never,”_ he repeats vehemently, with a flash of red, and Hank sags against the dryer. He’s a prime dickhead, all right.

“I know, Con. I know you wouldn’t.” He squeezes his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Connor finally sighs, and hops down off the dryer to hug Hank. “Okay.”

They just stay pressed against one another for a while, then Hank pulls back a bit to draw Connor into a kiss. 

He’s stopped by a finger up against his mouth. 

“Huh?” he says, confused and maybe a bit hurt. 

“46 hours, 48 minutes, 21 seconds.” Connor gives another smile, but it’s mostly just mischievous now. “For full sterilization, you understand.” 

“ _Connor,_ ” he says, wounded. “I said I don’t care about—” 

“It’s the principle of the thing, Hank,” Connor says airily, and saunters back into the house.

“Wha—Connor! Hey, Con, babe, come on—” 

“46 hours, 48 minutes, 12 seconds,” he calls behind him, and Hank scowls, following him back in with his arms crossed. 

At 44 hours, 10 minutes, 19 seconds, Connor refuses to give him a goodnight kiss. 

At 35 hours, 37 minutes, 40 seconds, Connor stiffs him a morning kiss also. 

By 27 hours, 29 minutes, 33 seconds, Hank has brought up the term ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ twice. “A severe punishment that is patently unnecessary!” he says, tapping his phone’s screen with his Wikipedia evidence aggressively. “This is _patently unnecessary_ and therefore _illegal—_ ”

“Please, Hank, you’re an officer of the law,” Connor responds calmly. “You’d think you might know the difference between illegal and petty.”

“Homophobic,” Hank tries.

“No, Hank.” He pats him on the shoulder, fingers lingering in a way that is really fucking unfair given the situation, and walks away again. He thinks Connor might be moving his hips more than usual. Could be some kind of visual hallucination, like seeing an oasis in the desert when you’re thirsty. Hank’s definitely thirsty, anyway.

24 hours, 1 minute, 56 seconds, Hank asks Connor if he’s ever heard of the Geneva Convention. Connor fixes him with an incredibly unimpressed look and resumes his examination of the burgled office they’re supposed to be looking at. 

Hank feels like he’s about to tear his hair out by 0 hours 3 minutes 22 seconds, while Connor is calmly watching some show that Hank stopped paying attention to long ago. He keeps asking Connor for an update, and Connor’s mouth—oh, God, don’t think about his mouth—curls up at the edges when he does. 

“Very similar to the time when you asked ten seconds ago,” he says. “Would you like some water?” 

“No.” God, this is all so _stupid._ Connor has clarified he’s not mad anymore, just making a point, and—well, Hank can do that too, right? He can be dumb and make a point. Being dumb is what he’s good at. 

“48 hours complete,” Connor says a few minutes or possibly several years later, and leans in towards Hank.

He holds a hand up, feigning apathy. “Nope.”

“Nope,” Connor echoes, face going into a displeased little frown. “Can you clarify?” 

“Not feeling it right now,” he says, and maybe his disinterested voice cracks a little bit, but it’s apparently effective enough to get Connor looking outraged.

“Hank, please—”

“Maybe later.” 

“Don’t be silly!” 

“ _I’m_ being silly?” he asks, exaggerated, round eyes. Connor’s eyes narrow, and he folds his arms over his chest. 

“Fine.”

It feels good to get the last word, he thinks. 

Maybe not as good as kissing Connor would feel, but like the guy said, it’s a matter of principle.

But Connor keeps licking his lips, and making little smacking noises, and shifting against Hank on the couch, and for fuck’s sake he hasn’t kissed his boyfriend in two days. He holds out a while longer before saying, decisively, “Fuck it,” and moving in to kiss Connor.

He kisses him the way they both like: deep and a bit messy, pressing against him, hands winding into his hair and smoothing over his waist. Connor gives a tiny little moan, and Hank breaks away to kiss at his neck, all pent-up desperation and growls.

“Uh-oh,” Connor says, a bit too breathy for it to be believable. “Now I have a saliva sample in my mouth. You’ll have to give me another 48 hours for—”

“God, shut up,” Hank says, and goes back to his mouth to kiss him silent, saliva be entirely damned. 

So that’s the first part. But the second is, after they move to the bedroom and Connor gets more than just a saliva sample in his mouth, after they’re both lying down in bed coming down from the afterglow, Hank kisses Connor again and blinks. 

“You taste minty,” he says, which sounds stupid, but also it’s true.

Connor brightens slightly. “Oh! Yes. That’s actually the full reason I needed 48 hours. I modified the synthesis of my sterilization fluid to taste slightly of menthol, since you were unhappy with the default.” He winks at Hank, who’s gaping. “Minty for your personal pleasure.”

“Uh,” he says intelligently. “Cool.” And he kisses him again, and his mouth tastes of mint even after he goes to brush his teeth for bed.

But the thing is, it’s _not_ cool. Or it is. But less so when Hank starts to associate mint with kissing Connor. It’s even worse when it gets into the winter season and everybody is lugging around peppermint flavored food and peppermint scented candles and shit, because it means he’s _always_ thinking about kissing Connor. Like, more than the usual always. Like worse.

Connor notices—because of-fucking-course he notices, he always does—and seems inordinately pleased by that fact. He brings one of those diffuser stick things to work and fills it with peppermint scent. He gets Hank peppermint mochas and grins delightedly when Hank’s head thumps against his desk, reminds him, ‘You didn’t want to kiss at work’. He leaves most days weirdly horny and a bit embarrassed because of it.

But just associating kissing with peppermint apparently isn’t enough for Connor, who’s a fucking menace (and adorable, and beautiful, and wonderful, and too good for Hank, but also a _fucking menace),_ and he comes home one day off beaming with a brown paper bag in tow.

“What’s that,” Hank says, because he knows Connor way too well and he has a reasonable suspicion of brown paper bags besides.

“Just something to try,” he says brightly. “Can I suck your dick?”

Which is way too abrupt for Hank to get in the mood, until Connor kisses him all minty and soft and moaning, and then, okay. That’s enough. 

And because, as aforementioned, fucking menace, the thing in the brown paper bag that Hank was entirely right to be suspicious about is peppermint scented lube and a pack of peppermint flavored condoms, so Connor edges him and gives him the world’s mintiest blowjob and the best orgasm he’s had in weeks, and then he keeps at it for the next few weeks until they run out. Hank shoulda known he had something in mind, past thinking the peppermint thing is funny and past blowjobs, but he’s generally too busy having his mind sucked out through his dick (or, occasionally, fucked out between Connor’s thighs) to give much of a damn.

It cannot be stressed enough, the whole thing where Connor is a menace. 

Because it leads them here, where they’re in an assisted care facility gathering a statement from this nice old lady, who’s asking Hank if he wants a peppermint candy, and who has already kindly given one to Connor. He responded with very pointed enthusiasm and began sucking on it immediately. Hank hates him.

(He doesn’t. It’s a problem. It’s _this_ problem.)

“Oh, I think Hank would _love_ a peppermint candy,” Connor says cheerfully. What a fucking ass. (Wait, God, no, now is not the time to think about asses and the fucking thereof in the same sentence.) “It’s his favorite flavor. Big fan.”

“Oh, really?” asks the lady, and Hank wishes the humiliation of this all would get rid of this dumb erection on its own, except he isn’t that lucky. “I’ll give you a few, then, if you like it so much. Not going to run out anytime soon.” 

“Thanks,” Hank says weakly, accepting a handful of candies and flashing a venomous glare at Connor, who smiles angelically back. At this point he’d rather the rubbing alcohol taste back. He tries to think really unhappy thoughts to edge out the much happier but very fucking inappropriate mint thoughts, but it’s not going too well.

He waddles to the car shamefaced, and whirls on Connor when he hops in also. The prick is fucking _giggling._

“You did this on purpose,” he accuses.

“Partially,” he says, because at least he’s honest. “I find it fascinating that the human mind has such a strong association between memory and scent. Don’t you?”

“Fascinating my ass, I don’t want an erection in front of fucking—Mrs. Claus!”

“You’ll be happy to know that legend would indicate the woman is safely ensconced in the North Pole,” Connor says, then grins and leans over the console to give Hank a minty kiss.

“That’s not _helping,”_ Hank groans, head on the steering wheel.

“No,” Connor agrees. “The helping comes when we get home, I should think.” 

Which doesn’t help either, nor does the lingerie Connor changes into that evening—“ _Mint green,_ ” he says with a shit-eating grin, which is another problematic association for another day—but they get home all right, at least. So that works.

(There’s a new recruit for the DPD starting the following year, and they’re nice enough, if a bit overenthusiastic about winning the approval of the department. They offer Hank a breath mint and startle when he scowls at them, leaves to go mumble something into Detective Connor’s ear, and walks off to the bathroom. Connor leaves several minutes later for the same destination as the recruit watches bemusedly.

“Did I do something wrong with Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor?” they finally ask Officer Chen.

“Oh, you mean ol’ Minty-Breath Connor and Pavlov’s Dog? Nah, they’re just like that.” She claps the recruit hard on the back. “Don’t try to go in that bathroom for like a half hour for safety, though. And, uh, don’t try to give Hank anything minty unless you want them heading in there. Like, pee first, is all I’m saying.”

The recruit blinks, caught between horror and fascination. “I—is that _allowed?”_

“Nah. But that rule sticks about as well as the no-mint-in-the-office rule Fowler tried to institute a while back.” She shrugs lazily, sipping at her coffee. “You get used to it.” 

“I don’t,” yells Detective Reed from the bullpen.

“Like you’re not hopping on plastic dick every night, Reed,” she yells back. 

“Damn straight!” He sounds disconcertingly proud.

“Can we stop talking about dicks in the office, _please!”_ yells Fowler, loudest.

The no dick talking rule, the recruit will later learn, went down similarly to the mint and office sex bans. Namely, badly.

“Anyway,” Tina says with a roll of her eyes. “Welcome to the DPD, kid.” One last clap on the shoulder, then she leaves. 

And when the Lieutenant and Detective come back disheveled and smelling of mint, this time the recruit doesn’t say a goddamn thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> i have three fics to work on right now so obviously i instead wrote this like a sensible individual (but it was really fucking funny so i don't regret it)
> 
> thank you so much for reading this silly thing! if you wanna drop by my tumblr, it's at [anuninterestingperson](http://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com). i'm also on twitter at [@boringbibs](https://twitter.com/boringbibs). and again, you should take a look at the works of [knightblazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer) and [iocane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane) because they're wonderful folks and hilarious!


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